Fra Diavolo, bandit opera in two parts

Introduction

When Fra Diavolo came out, Auber was far from being an unknown. At the Theatre Feydeau in 1813, Le Séjour militaire marked his real public debut. However, he had to wait until Leicester ou le chateau de Kenilworth in 1823 and Le Macon two years later for general recognition to arrive. And that was nothing in comparison with the triumph accorded in 1828 to La Muette de Portici, one of the pillars of the premier French operatic stage up to the end of the 19^th century, and a major milestone in the history of musical theatre, since it paved the way for Rossini, Halévy and Meyerbeer. But very soon, leaving behind large-scale spectacle and excessive shows of sentiment, Auber returned to his favourite genre, opéra-comique, whose conventions he had helped to fix, and which he was to grace until his death in 1871.

In 1829 he brought out La Fiancée and a year later Fra Diavolo, the eighth production of his collaboration with Eugène Scribe, which eventually amounted to 38 titles – a record! The real Fra Diavolo, Michele Pezza, was less the big-hearted bandit, rather more the implacable enemy of the Neapolitan armies. For services rendered to Ferdinand of Bourbon, he was made duke, but then, captured by the forces of Colonel (and General-tobe) Hugo – father of Victor! – he was hanged without further ado. Did Scribe and Auber have him in mind? Definitely, but only just. For in their company, one leaves behind bloodthirsty tragedy and historical drama to enter a world of pure comedy. The aim of Scribe’s Brother Diavolo, who is anything but a guerilla, is simply to entertain. The scenario, when you sum it up, is not very original, and uses well-tried theatrical mechanisms: cross-dressing, mistaken identity, misunderstandings, misleading appearances. But Scribe is skilful and knows his craft perfectly. He knows how to spin out his effects, keep his public in suspense, and interweave several plots at the same time, later unravelling them with an equal appearance of ease.

It was a colossal success. And very soon came the adaptations, the most famous of which delighted audiences in Germany and Italy for many years – they were still playing Fra Diavolo in those two countries when it had already been forgotten in France. And Auber was not averse to modifying his work several times over. He even borrowed things from some of his other works: thus, Le Secret, which had hardly been a success in 1832, furnished him with Zerline’s cavatina; rather paradoxically, it became the role’s hit number. A fresh look needs to be taken at the score, to put paid to the commonly purveyed ideas that Auber’s orchestration is banal, whereas actually his instrumentation is carefully worked out, and that his melodic invention is extremely short-breathed, when in fact he has such an ear for a motif – the catchy sort that has the spectator singing it as he leaves the theatre – and for rhythm. One might also investigate what influence Rossini’s genius might have had on him. But fashion, which doesn’t spare a glance for opéra-comique at a time when so many young performers might cut their teeth on this repertoire, has decided otherwise.

Michel Parouty
®EMI Music France

Eugène Scribe and the French Theatre

While there is nothing unusually entertaining in Fra Diavolo, yet the scene where Zerline, the innkeeper’s daughter, is preparing to go to bed, singing happily meanwhile, not knowing that there are two robbers concealed in the room, is most original, and the amusing stupidity of the Englishman and his wife furnishes much gayety. Fra Diavolo is not, as in history, a cruel, ferocious brigand, but an honest robber and gentlemanly rascal, with good drawing-room manners. What was it that won for Scribe the first place among the librettists of his time? Certainly not his talent as a poet. No, Scribe was not a poet, at least in this sense, and his association with Auber had nothing in common with that which was the glory of Quinault and Lully. Poetry in an opera libretto is superfluous. Quinault was a real poet, indeed, but it was not for that reason that he rendered Lully such inestimable services; it was because he knew thoroughly his business as a librettist. One can be worse than mediocre as a writer and still succeed in this difficult genre, if one has other qualities which it is rare to find united in one man and which Scribe possessed to the highest degree. The first of all is to be able to imagine musical situations; by that is not meant necessarily dramatic situations, what Sarcey called les scenes à faire, but situations that poetry is insufficient to render, that music alone is capable of expressing. Situations of this kind abound in Scribe’s libretti, and it is partly for that reason that some of them are masterpieces.

Neil Cole Arvin

The director’s concept

It is a dynamic and, spectacular opera I have always preferred. It is by no chance that I am doing it for the fifth time in my career of 70 years: first, as part of the Opera on Wheels initiative, later at the Erkel Theatre, which was followed by productions in Genoa and at the College of Theatre Arts in Budapest. This new production is my fifth staging of Fra Diavolo, at the Eiffel Art Studios with excellent singers of the Hungarian State Opera, but some of my students from the Music Academy also take part, which is always a pleasure.

It is important to note that there are different versions of the work. Theatrical practice knows three different endings, I have also staged it with three different endings. The other significant factor is that it is a comic opera that demands making use of many humorous moments, although there are also some more serious situations in it. What to emphasize depends on the interpretation and the time it is performed at, but there is always something relevant that can be highlighted – and it doesn’t necessarily mean modern costumes. My new version takes place at a not too distant, imaginary past, even though there is a frame story that places the action in our time.

The music of Fra Diavolo is melodic and pleasant, many even regard it as an operetta. Yet it is certainly more serious than that as it becomes evident from the difficult vocal parts. Not many know it, but there was a Hollywood production based on the opera in 1933 that used music from the work. It also took its comic nature so seriously that the two bandits were performed by none others than the famous duo Laurel and Hardy.

I am an advocate of performing operas in Hungarian, especially if they include spoken parts as well, so that the audience can relate to the work more easily. In serious bel canto operas, the text is less significant. Therefore, they are better to be sung in their original language. In the case of a dramatic work, however, like with Carmen, real drama can unfold in the language of the audience. Not many understand French, and singers might find the pronunciation difficult. I am certain that Fra Diavolo will be more successful here in Hungarian.

The genre of French opéra comique is characteristic of its spoken dialogues. There have been some alterations in the new production. There is prose in the original work just like in Singspiels such as Die Zauberflöte. As Fra Diavolo is a romantic comic opera, we enjoy more freedom while staging it, and there is no harm sacrificing certain parts of the original work in order to achieve an entertaining theatrical experience. In my opinion, even the masterpieces can be classified further: in some theatres, the audience is treated as partner. In others, since the 19^th century mainly, the audience is present only to see the events on stage. It is not possible to involve the audience in a performance of La bohème or a play by Chekhov. Fra Diavolo or Shakespeare can, or rather require maintaining a constant relationship with the audience. The characters reveal themselves to the audience as well.

Fra Diavolo is a kind of Don Giovanni story, but as it happens, this version is a comic one. The title role is Fra Diavolo himself, although pretending to be a marquis and acts accordingly, he is a handsome, charming, and brilliant rascal. He is talented, always ready to seduce women, and he is quite successful at it. What fate has for him in store, namely, whether he is captured, or he can escape, is a matter of interpretation. His destiny in my version will only be revealed at the end of the performance. We respect and admire this marquis. Whether we love him is a different matter. Thus, the ending is open to debate, and ultimately, the audience should be the judge of that.

Miklós Szinetár